


Hurts So Good

by Justnope



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Elyan Lives (Merlin), Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, Magic Revealed, Merlin's not having a good time, Minor Character Death, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Whump, because I said so, you have no idea how much I'm gonna hurt him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justnope/pseuds/Justnope
Summary: Merlin's been tipping sideways for a while now. This is how he finally falls.OrWe saw in canon how Merlin changed through-out the seasons of the show from young, cheerful, pure and naïve boy to expressionless, morally dubious, borderline depressed man even when Arthur was alive and well. I just wrote this thinking what would happen if Arthur had lived but Merlin was still hidden.
Relationships: Aithusa & Merlin (Merlin), Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 128
Kudos: 386





	1. You still get burned

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the story and the chapters are from the song "Hurts so good" by Astrid S. Love that song even tho it took me a while to find it. 
> 
> I'm just trying something with this story that even I'm not sure of. also heads up: even tho I have written most of the story I haven't written the most important parts which means I have no idea how this ends which means I don't know if this is 'Angst with a happy ending' (tho it probably will cuz I'm a sucker for those). its gonna be a 6 maybe 7 part story with relatively regular updates

Merlin sees the fist coming, he sees it coming miles away. He doesn’t even have to use magic to save himself (not that he could), he just has to take a step back to dodge it. But he doesn’t. the fist connects with his jaw with a satisfying bump sound and he stumbles. He isn’t even surprised. He knows people like these. The courtesies and the bows are never enough for them. They always need more dramatic ways to feel that they are in power.

Merlin lowers his eyes.

“What are you doing here snooping around, boy? Trying to steal something.” Lord Arnold spits. Merlin barely manages to not roll his eyes. He is thirty-three and in no way, shape or form looks like a boy.

“My apologies for creating misunderstandings, milord. I’m the personal manservant of the King. He sent me here to make sure you had no problems during your stay here.” And wasn’t that the truth. Merlin had tried, as usual, to tell Arthur that the lord that had arrived from the north had other intensions then to just revise trade routes and taxes, and failed, as usual, to make him even the least bit suspicious.

_“Why can’t you just trust me?” Merlin hadn’t meant to say it. He was just so tired of doing everything alone. For once he wanted Arthur to believe him, to trust him and to work with him._

_Arthur’s expression had faltered and then had snapped back into blankness. “Lord Arnold is one of my father’s oldest friend and you will behave while he’s here. In fact, I want you to go see if he is comfortably settled after the long journey.”_

_Merlin had opened his mouth to argue but then realized that that meant he could keep a closer eye on the lord. He had then shut his mouth, bowed and left._

“The King and the Queen sent you?” Lord Arnold asks, his voice dropping at ‘Queen’. 

Merlin’s hand tightens around the bracelet, now understanding the familiar magic radiating from it. A love spell.

“Just the King, milord,” and if this lord had known Merlin even a little bit, he would have heard the utter disrespect dripping from his voice at the honorific. Like hell will Merlin let this pervert anywhere near the Queen. He would burn his d-, “If that’ll be all, milord?”

Lord Arnold grunts and waves his hand dismissively.

Merlin exits and heads to the physician, already thinking of ways to get the enchantment of the bracelet and putting it back. On his way, he slams into someone and almost falls except for the two hands steadying him.

“Would you watch where you’re going, Merl- what happened to your face?” Arthur asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Merlin says remembering how easily he had been punched. Maybe he’ll take up all the personal duties of Arnold. There is no way the other servants will be able to handle him.

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin gives him a guilty look and lies through his teeth,” Got in a fight in the tavern.” The only lie that Arthur would believe without any questions.

Arthur narrows his eyes,” Didn’t I tell you to go see if Lord Arnold needed anything.”

“I did that too and he requested me to serve him for the duration of his stay so you can have the ever-competent George to look after you for the next three days,” Merlin says with the most insolent smirk he could muster. Before Arthur could reply merlin steps away from him and continuous on his way.

At the end of the first day, Merlin is sporting a few bruises in all the places his clothes can easily hide but he does remove the enchantment and successfully places the bracelet back in the cupboard. 

On the second night, Merlin’s trying not to wince through the pain of his definitely-cracked-if-not-broken-ribs while serving Lord Arnold in the great hall when he spots Gwen wearing the bracelet. He smirks through-out dinner.

On the third day, Lord Arnold gets arrested for making ‘unwelcome advances’ towards the Queen. When the news reaches Merlin, he just… laughs, the pain each movement gives him only reminding him that for once, everyone in the situation got what they deserved.

***

Arthur’s boring holes with his eyes through the parchment lying on the desk when Merlin enters his chambers later that night.

“You’re thinking. That’s never good.” Merlin’s lips press into a thin line to stop himself from laughing. He doesn’t know what’s funny about this whole situation but he had only stopped laughing earlier when the pain became too much. Maybe he’s finally going mad.

“Merlin.” Merlin waits for him to say something else. He doesn’t. Merlin sighs. It’s going to be that kind of night.

“Come on. Let me help into your nightwear.” Merlin says, All the humour evaporating from his mind. He really doesn’t want to do this again.

Arthur stands and lets himself be manhandled into his sleeping clothes.

Merlin’s turning down the bed covers when Arthur speaks.

“I heard a few servants gossiping today. They said- they said they heard shouting coming from Lor- Arnold’s room earlier today.”

Merlin stiffens. He forces himself to move and says,” if you are implying that I was on anything but my best behaviour, you are very wrong,”

“They said it sounded a lot like someone was getting beaten up.” he continues like Merlin hadn’t spoken. 

Merlin stops and turns towards Arthur but doesn’t respond.

“You weren’t in a tavern fight that day, were you?” Arthur asks, sounding pained, “Merlin, I’m so sor-“

“Arthur, it's fine. Really.” He cuts him off with his best smile. He doesn’t want an apology. He doesn’t want Arthur to feel guilty. Because in the end, Merlin would still have to deal with the next nobility alone, he would still have to handle the next threat alone. In the end, it would be better that Arthur never completely trusts him, for when the time comes to tell his secret, he wouldn’t feel that betrayed. The lack of trust stings. It stings more than these injuries ever do. but it’s not like he doesn’t deserve the wounds or the stings. So, he smiles bigger,” Have a good night.” He says, then turns and leaves.

It doesn’t escape Arthur’s notice how the fire needs tending and the candles need extinguishing and how fake Merlin’s smiles were and how fast he wants to _get away_. Arthur doesn’t stop him. He knows, no kind of apology would make up for the pain that is making Merlin unconsciously limp or the pain of not being trusted. Again.

So, he just climbs into bed and falls into a troubled sleep.


	2. I don’t know why I try to deny you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day like any other

The meeting is mind-numbingly boring. Leon is droning on about the recent unrest on the northern borders in painstaking detail. That combined with mid-afternoon drowsiness has Merlin wondering how Arthur hasn’t smacked his head on the Round Table even once. Every single person on the table, including The Queen looks one blink away from sleeping right there on the table. The only reason Merlin himself isn’t drooping is that he is standing with a wine pitcher in his hand and not sitting comfortably on the chairs. To be honest, the chairs don’t look very comfortable themselves, but how would he know, he has never sat on them. 

Merlin thinks about the time he used to think he’ll sit with them. He still remembers every detail of the day Arthur discovered the original round table. When he was still a prince and Camelot was in the clutches of Morgana. Merlin had sat there, in the ruins of the castle of the ancient kings, on the original round table to Arthur’s right. He had seen the glimpse of the king Arthur’s is now when he had talked about the importance of the table and the equality it represented. He still remembers the amount of effort it had taken him to keep a straight face and not show the pure, unadulterated joy that had surged through him when he had heard Arthur say, ‘without each of you, we would not be here’. Even if Arthur hadn’t known the exact amount of Merlin’s contribution to it all, that was the most acknowledgement he had ever gotten from him. 

He remembers the insecurity and reluctance Arthur had shown while asking the people sitting to join him, knowing that he was ultimately asking them to join him on a suicide mission. He remembers the giddiness, the feeling of _right_ he had gotten when the knights had stood up one by one to tell Arthur that they believed in him and would go down fighting for him. He had seen the look of relief on Arthur’s face when he had realized he wasn’t alone.

He remembers the absolute lack of doubt on his face when he asked Merlin to stand up. the wordless agreement had been enough because of course, Merlin would come with him and Arthur had never doubted that. 

Watching Arthur knight the commoners had been Merlin’s first real sign of Arthur’s divergence from his father. Merlin had seen signs before, small assurances that Arthur really would as great a king as the prophesies deemed him to be. But that night, the knighting ceremony had felt like the first step towards the great Albion everyone kept talking about.  
The words from Lancelot that night had made Merlin feel invincible. With Arthur’s righteousness and Merlin’s supposed bravery, Albion had seemed within reach.

Then they had taken back Camelot. Arthur had had a bigger Round table built and Merlin had gone back to serving the King from behind the table just like he had before, without the round table. And no one had batted an eye. Even Guinevere had gotten her seat later on. It had nipped at his pride for a while. It wasn’t like he wanted the glory or even the credit. They were his friends before they were the King and the Queen and the knights but who doesn’t want to be at equal standing with their friends.

He wasn’t bitter about any of it. He had understood why he couldn’t sit at the table. He had nothing to bring to it, at least nothing they knew of. Arthur was the king, Guinevere, the Queen and the knights were the protectors of the realm. Even though Merlin used to count himself as one the protectors, they didn’t know about it. He couldn’t ever put it on them.

It had taken him a few years but he had caught on with himself and had realized that he never really deserved a place on the round table. They were brave, noble and honest. Merlin was none of those things. If he was, they all would have known about his magic by now. Between releasing Killgarah and turning Morgana permanently to Morgause, Merlin had been responsible for more deaths than he had ever saved, therefore, he couldn’t even call himself a protector of the realm.

So, Merlin had resigned himself into helping in the little ways he could; writing Arthur’s speeches, looking through the village by village grain reports, signing off on the obviously Arthur approved documents, advising Arthur behind closed doors…

Speaking of little ways…

Merlin pulls out of his musings as Leon’s chair scrapes the stone floor as he sits down. That did not seem enough for Arthur though. He seems to have fallen asleep with his eyes open. Merlin steps forward and spills half of the wine into Arthur’s lap. Dropping the pitcher all together on the floor would have been effective too but where’s the fun in that.

Arthur stands up, the moment the wine makes contact, and almost topples the chair over with the force of it.

“Merlin! Is there anything you are actually capable of doing?” Arthur shouts.

Merlin looks him in the eye, too bored out of his mind to put a brain to mouth filter, and deadpans, “Putting up with you.”

The light snickering from around the table tells him what’s going to happen next. He spoke too loudly and therefore…

Arthur narrows his eyes, “Stocks. Now.”

Merlin puts down the wine and turns towards the exit. From his periphery he notices some of the knights chuckling and some of them shaking their heads, but the original round table knights and the Queen is just giving Merlin a knowing look. 

He sighs. It’s all in the little ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I would clarify, Merlin calls Gwen, the Queen or Guinevere even in his head and not Gwen because I wanted to show the distance between them that was there even in canon.


	3. Wide Awake Through the Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He scoffs, “of course, you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate the number of times I used the word “had” in this chapter.

Merlin ducks around the corner just outside the stairwell that lead to the chambers of the court physician. He waits the night guards out, hiding in an alcove, then makes his way up.

He quietly opens the door into Gaius’s workshop and startles at the scene in front of him. The place is a mess. There are herbs strewn about everywhere, cut up and crushed in on the workbench, the seating table, the floor near the hearth. The fire in the hearth is going strong with a cauldron filled with a boiling mixture on top of it. The smell of earth and herbs that’s ever-present in these quarters hits Merlin at double the strength. Multiple open books are lying around the room in different positions some of which could not have been good for their spines. Gaius is bustling about, practically running from one corner to another collecting and preparing tonics, poultices and slaves and shoving them into a sling-on bag. 

Merlin shuts the door with force to let him know of his presence. Gaius turns around gives him a quick once over and then visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping and his face lifting. 

“Merlin! Where were you, my boy? It’s been three days. Are you alright?” he asks, dropping everything and making his way over to him.

Gaius looks bone tired. Like he could drop at any second. So, Merlin makes a split-second decision and decides this is one of those time where he lies to Gaius too. He puts his hands on his mentor’s shoulders, when he is near enough, before he can hug him and make lying impossible then says, “I’m fine, Gaius. Aithusa called. I was helping her. It just took longer than I expected.” There. And only one of those statements is a lie. 

It has been five years since Morgana’s death. After ordering Aithusa to abandon her only friends in the battle of Camlann Merlin had lost her trust. It had taken over a year to locate her and then another to get her to talk to him.

The way she had grown, disabled and crippled in her captivity; living itself was painful for her. She was a growing dragon. A growing dragon that was growing wrong. It had taken her another two years to let him help her through her growing pains, partly because Merlin was relentless in offering his help, no matter how harshly she shut him down and partly because she had hit a bit of a growth spurt at the time that had made even breathing hurt for the following couple of months.

In those months, Aithusa had finally let him in. It was then that Merlin had realized, losing her trust wasn’t the worst of Morgana’s death. It was what Morgana’s death had done to Aithusa. The dragon had spent two years of her life in a dark hole under the earth, chained and tortured, while her body grew twisted and broken. And through all that, she had one and only one comfort, Morgana. The kind of bond that one develops in such… conditions… it’s, well, beyond words. It’s beyond loyalty. 

When Merlin had told her everything that Morgana had done and why killing her was the only option left, Aithusa had just given him a sad smile and, through mind speech, had said, _‘I understand. But I just regret that she died thinking I abandoned her.”_

Merlin had heard his heart crack at that, remembering what Morgana had said to him once.

_“Don't think I don't understand loyalty just because I've got no one left to be loyal to.”_

Loyalty was something that he understood maybe better than anyone and _he hadn’t thought of that_. 

While on top of that mountain, all he had seen was Aithusa as a distraction as Mordred, the druid destined to kill his king, made his way through Camelot’s soldiers like they were little more than irritating pests. And later when He stabbed Morgana while his king lay unconscious, he had failed to see the utter loneliness and desperation in her eyes that was caused by so much more than a mare fear of death.

Merlin had cried then. He had _bawled_. And Aithusa had been there, petting him, telling him it was okay like he was the one needing assurances. And Merlin had believed her lies for the time being.

He spent all his nights of those months in the clearing near Camelot where he used to call Killgarah, tending to the dragon in whatever way he could. Having learnt and perfected a teleportation spell early in those months, he would apparate to Aithusa the moment he closed the doors of his bed-chambers after dinner with Gaius. He had been walking half-dead on his feet through the day in those months, but it had been worth it.

During those months, they had both realised that Aithusa’s left wing’s base bone was twisted inwards. It was what was making her flying difficult. And in a few months when her weight would become too much, flying would become impossible. 

Theoretically, Merlin could fix it. He would have had to break her bone, realign it, then wait for it to heal on its own. Aside from the fact that it would be excruciatingly painful, it was also very dangerous. If he broke it wrong or if he aligned it wrong or if he did not do it right on time and infection took hold of her during healing, he would be able to do nothing. It was not like the potions and poultices Gaius makes could help a dragon. He couldn’t very well use magic to heal a creature of magic. And Aithusa was to weak to heal herself. So, they had decided to wait until the last possible minute to do it. 

Three days ago, Merlin was polishing Arthur’s armour in the armoury mid-afternoon, when he heard a very panicked Aithusa crying about how she couldn’t fly anymore. Knowing what it meant, he had bolted to Gaius’s chambers and collected as many bandages as he could because really, there was nothing else that could have helped and then apparated to the clearing Aithusa was in.

The reason it had taken so long was that Merlin was truly an idiot. He was standing too close to Aithusa. When he broke her bone, she had reacted instinctually and pushed with her claw. Merlin had slammed against a tree and promptly passed out. 

When he had woken up it was to the sight of the night sky full of stars and the sound of Aithusa whimpering in pain. Merlin had jumped to his feet and immediately set to work before the panic could get him. It was only when he was done and the adrenaline had worn off that Merlin was, rather painfully, made aware that he had a nasty head injury, a few broken ribs - so easily broken because they hadn’t yet completely healed from the lord Arnold incident - from the shove and three gashes on his chest from Aithusa’s claw. He had spent the next two days watching Aithusa like a hawk for any signs of fever or infection while tending to his injuries the best he could without any supplies. Before leaving he had created a self-sustaining magical dome around the clearing so that anyone coming towards the clearing would automatically change their path.

So, yeah. Only one part of that what he had just told Gaius is a lie. Merlin is beyond tired. Every step hurts and so does every, even slightly, deep breathe. He just wants to go to bed and sleep until next week.

“So, I’m going to go,” Merlin says, pointing towards the door to his room.

“Ah. I know you must be tired, but we are needed in the lower town. Sweating sickness.” Gaius says, looking just as tired. Merlin looks away from Gaius and towards the room and realizes the number of potions Gaius must have prepared if the mess is anything to go by.

It’s moments like these when Merlin wonders how much better off Gaius would be without him. At his age, he deserves an apprentice who actually helps him instead of being wrapped up in his own life. Not only did he not get an apprentice but he gets added worries whenever his apprentice is not doing his job. it's not fair to him

Merlin hasn’t slept in the two days and is only functioning purely through will power and probably a bit of magic. He sighs internally, guesses he’ll just have to add a little more magic and make it three. 

“Gaius, what did you tell Arthur?” Merlin asks, already dreading the answer, as he walks over to the workbench and picks up the sling-on Gaius had filled.

“The tavern,” he doesn’t even bat an eye. 

He scoffs, “of course, you did.” With the list of chores Arthur will have waiting for Merlin, he just knows Merlin will have to make it four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I tried to keep Aithusa a bit like Morgana for the influence she might have had(ugh) on her during the time they were together. But also like Merlin because you know he is basically her father and I absolutely love the hc idk where I read it that dragons have a few of the qualities of the dragonlords that hatched them. I mean she already looks like him. all pale skin and blue eyes.


	4. Will You Hold Me Like We're Running A Yellow Light?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, meet Emrys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say 'Hi Emrys'

It’s one of those days when Merlin is out collecting herbs for Gaius and is actually doing just that. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and everything around Merlin is thrumming with life. Maybe he’ll go visit Aithusa, her wound needs checking anyway. 

Merlin unbounds his magic inside him and lets it flow through him and into the earth to feel nature in all its vibrant glory. He senses it two seconds in, foreign magic. Not tainted and very little in amount but he recoils just the same. He reels his magic in and looks behind him.

“Who’s there?” Merlin asks out loud. Immediately he hears someone crash and grunt. They pick themselves up and start making their way to him, giving up on keeping quiet now that they are caught. 

A boy, all skin and bones, no more than fourteen summers, makes his way towards Merlin, coming out of the trees, stopping in front of him and looks up at him defiantly. With raven-black hair and emerald green eyes, he is not that much shorter than him but carries himself with an air of… insolence, maybe pride? It’s hard to get a read on the kid. It’s adorable all the same.

“Why were you following me?”

“I wasn’t,” the boy lies very, very badly. Merlin bites his lip to hide his smile. He turns around starts walking away. The kid starts to follow. Merlin stops, the kid stops. He turns around and raises his eyebrow at the kid.

“I’m not.” The Kid says, indignantly.

“Okay.” Merlin turns around and starts walking again. The kid shamelessly starts following him again. Merlin knows he should be nervous or at least wary of someone following him, but he can’t help it. The kid is adorable and the little pang in his chest tells him he reminds him of Morgana. He had felt his magic. It was pure and good and compassionate. It’s been so long since Merlin’s been anywhere near such magic, except for his very short and very uncomfortable, occasional trips to the druids, who have more or less started worshipping the ground he walks on.

“What’s your name, kid?” Merlin asks without turning around.

“Not a kid.” He sounds strangely smug about it. As if it was an achievement. After a pause, he says, “Emrys.” 

Merlin almost trips over his feet to turn around. For a second, he thinks the boy is one of the druids that can sense him but then he realizes he’s answering Merlin’s question. 

“Your name is Emrys?” Merlin can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. _His parents must really hate him._ To Merlin’s delight, the kid, Emrys, blushes bright red. He can’t help it, he continuous, barely reigning his laugh in, “your camp must have great expectations from you.”

Merlin smirks as the kid splutters, “How- how did you-?"

“How did I know? Besides the clothes and the…,” Merlin gestures towards the whole of him, trying to tell him, he looks like a druid through and through from the wildness of his eyes to his bare feet (for god’s sake). “I can sense your magic.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t have magic.” Emrys says, sounding confused, and a little panicked.

“Relax. I’m not going to tell anyone, not that I can. Besides even if I did, druids are no longer prosecuted for having magic.” Merlin rushes. He doesn’t want the kid to run away. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” where most people would say that statement haughtily, Emrys just sounds irritated and well, endearing in all his small-sized indignation. “I mean I literally don’t have magic.”

“Yes, you do. it’s just not a lot and I’m guessing it hasn’t manifested yet.” Merlin says, patiently.

Emrys goes quiet at that, looking contemplative. Merlin turns around and starts looking for the needed herbs in the area, leaving him to his thoughts. It is a big revelation if you think about it, for some random stranger to tell you that you have magic when you always believed otherwise. 

After a while, Emrys says, “Makes sense. I could sense your magic too.” Merlin pauses, reflexively coiling his magic, burying it deeper. If he can sense Merlin’s magic, he must know that he is named after Merlin. But before he can ask to confirm, he continuous, “What is your name, then?”

Huh. Maybe Merlin is finally becoming good at hiding his magic, or maybe good enough to not feel like The Emrys. Most druids that meet Merlin either bow or keep staring at him reverently. This kid just looks at him with the curiosity of a teenager and maybe a little bit of suspicion which is a normal thing to give to a stranger in the middle of the forest. 

For some reason that makes him smile. He doesn’t want the kid to know who he is, not yet anyway.

After the druids became a common populace in the city, Merlin had to stick extra close to Arthur all the time, so, the bows at least could be misinterpreted for the king that freed their kind and not the so-called prophesied legend walking behind him. Among those druids, the kid is a breath of fresh air.

“I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you.” Merlin smiles at him. Emrys doesn’t reply, So, Merlin just resumes his work. 

“Do you need Thime?” Emrys asks after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Uh… yes.” Merlin turns to look at him bending over a bush.

“Here,” He hands him a fistful of Thime. Merlin smiles.

“Thank you,” Merlin takes them and puts them in his bag. He walks a little way away to collect some Aconitum. “So, what are you doing so far away from your camp,” Merlin asks a little curious. He knows that even after Arthur made it legal for the druids a quite a few of them still remain in the forests, preferring their nomadic ways over permanent settlements. Merlin knows the nearest camp from where he was, was still a little too far.

“I was temporarily banished from the camp,” Emrys says, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“…What? They do that?”

He shrugs, “It has started recently. After our existence became legal, it got safe enough to let individuals wander around. They have to punish us in some way. Our parents can’t really beat us what with the peace and all. Though I think my parents really considered that option before Iseldier came up with the banishment.”

Merlin chuckles. “What did you do to make the most peaceful people in all of Albion to consider violence?” Merlin asks, incredulously.

“I had sex,” Emrys says, extremely smug.

Merlin chokes on air, “What?”

He shrugs again, “There was a week-long ritual they wanted me to perform along with the other virgins of the camp. I didn’t want to, so… I had sex.” 

Merlin bursts out laughing at that. Somewhere at the back of his mind Merlin notes that this is the first time in months, maybe years, where he isn’t faking it. He has to sit down, clutching at his stomach because he is laughing so hard. The look on Emrys’ face is not helping. He looks equal parts smug, shocked and pleased. Maybe the smug part is more there than any other. 

When Merlin finally collects himself, he looks up to Emrys looking at him expectantly. Merlin decides then and there, she needs to him.

“Emrys?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“What are your thoughts on Dragons?”

**

“How much further?” Emrys whines.

“You know, for someone who claims to be a grown-up, you sure whine a lot.” Merlin teases. He can’t help but tease, it’s way too easy to wind him up. And when he does the look of rage scares him as much as a yapping puppy at his heels.

“Why? Am I getting too much to handle?” and then he says something like that and Merlin can’t help but compare him to the Morgana he first met.

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Another hour, give or take.”

Emrys groans. “Why did I agree to this, again?”

Merlin laughs, free and happy, “Because you’ve wanted to see one since you were five.”

He pouts but doesn’t retort.

Merlin bites his lip, unsure, but then decides to ask before he can talk himself out of it, “You don’t seem too keen of the druidic life, do you not share the same beliefs?” Merlin slows his pace down so that Emrys can walk with him, to be able to see his face when he replies.

Emrys frowns pouting a little as he replies, “No, I agree with the beliefs. Peace is always better than war. Forgiveness is always better than vengeance.”

“But?”

“But,” he chuckles, “there are some things I don’t like. Like the ritual to a goddess that never replies, the complete dependency on this Emrys guy.” Emrys looks at him from the corner of his eyes. Before Merlin can start to fear the implications of that look, he continuous, non-pulsed, “the constant moving and uprooting of camps. It’s just- it’s just too much.”

“Do you ever think about leaving? Maybe settle somewhere in the city, find a job?”

“I do. but nothing has ever really come of just thinking, has it?”

Merlin mulls over his next words carefully. He doesn’t want the kid to know he is Emrys. He is not ready to give up this casual comradeship they have going on. 

“I know Iseldier. He has helped me out of quite a lot of tight situations.” Emrys looks at him inquisitively. “I could talk to him. I work in the royal household. I could take you with me?” He can take over the apprentice job Merlin is so abysmal at.

Emrys’s eyes light up and Merlin feels like this is one of the best decisions he has made in, well, ever. He smiles from ear to ear and nods enthusiastically. 

Merlin smiles back, restraining himself from pinching his cheeks and begins to reply when Emrys’ smile drops as his eyes locate something in the trees behind him.

“Merlin!” he shouts and then shoves him to the ground. Merlin twists his ankle falling to the ground but ignores it in favour of looking behind him.

Five bandits are emerging from the treeline, swords drawn and one of them carrying a crossbow. It takes Merlin a moment to realize that he doesn’t have to hide his magic in this battle. But then again with his magic free, it won’t be much of a battle, will it?

The one with the crossbow is loading an arrow on it, which doesn’t make any sense, until it does and Merlin panics.

“ _Swefe nu_!” he shouts letting his magic completely free, all the binding evaporating in his panic. He doesn’t wait to see if it gets to the bandits or not. He knows it does, his magic never fails him in the heat of battle. He turns around to look at Emrys and watches him fall to the ground.

Merlin crawls over to him. There’s an arrow sticking out of the right side of his chest.

Punctured lung.

_FuckFuckFuck_

“No no no no, Why? Why would you do that?!” Merlin doesn’t know what to do. That’s a fatal wound. For all the bullshit about being the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth, he still sucks ass at healing magic.

Emrys coughs, blood coating his lips, “Impulse.” He smiles, then coughs up more blood, smile dropping, “Hurts.” 

“Yeah? Well, that’s what happens when you jump in front of an arrow, you idiot.” He says, his voice pitching high in his panic, all the while racking his brain for something, anything. He could take him to Aithusa, but in Aithusa’s current state, she won’t be much help.

“Hey, talk nicely to me, I’m dying.” Emrys wheezes, eyes drooping and skin growing paler every second.

“Shut up. you’re not dying.” Of course! The druids have healers, they should be able to help. “Hey, look at me, listen to me. I need you to concentrate on where your camp is, how far is it, and I want you to want to go there very badly. Do you hear me? Think of your parents, don’t you want to see them? Hmm?”

When he doesn’t reply, Merlin’s panic grows and grows, clamping down on his heart like a vicious monster. Then the tiniest of nods and Merlin places his hand on Emrys’ head and starts the apparition spell.

“Help!” Merlin shouts the moment the scenery around him changes, loudly as well as in mind-speak.

The druids that were already outside drop everything and rush towards him, thankfully ignoring him to try and help Emrys. Merlin’s vision is blurring and he can feel the hot trails of tears on his cheeks but couldn’t be bothered to wipe them.

“Your healers, call them. Please! Please call them!” he isn’t sure why he is requesting Emrys’ own people to help him save his life and he is too desperate to care. 

A couple breaks through the crowds, now that almost everyone from the camp is here, and fell to their knees on the other side of the boy. His parents, he realises. Merlin can’t look at them, too much guilt, too many tears, too much desperation, too much, too much, too much.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, his head whips up to find Iseldier standing behind him. 

Merlin takes the hand on his shoulder into his, in a tight grip, “Iseldier, oh, thank the gods! Please, get your healers. We have to help him.” Merlin lets go of his hand but Iseldier doesn’t move. “Iseldier?” Merlin looks up at him. Iseldier just shakes his head.

NO. “NO!” he says out loud, missing the way everyone flinches with the intensity of his mind-speak. He turns back towards Emrys and puts his hand around the arrow. “This is going to hurt, buddy.” He murmurs.

“What-” Merlin yanks the arrow out of his chest and hurriedly puts both his hands on the wound to stop the bleeding.

“ _ **Gestepe hole! Þurhhæle**_ ” Merlin chants. Nothing happens. “No, no. That’s for poison.” He mumbles. He feels Iseldier’s hand on his shoulder, but he ignores it.

“ _ **Ahlúttre þá séocnes. Þurhhæle bræd**_.” Nothing, then he remembers why. “Don’t have time for a thime paste.” He feels fingers curling around his wrists, knows it’s Emrys’, “Shut up. I won’t let you die, not for me.” He snarls, finally looking him in the eye.

“ ** _Wel cene hole_**.” Still nothing. The hand on his wrist tightens.

“Merlin.” Merlin looks, Emrys tries for a smile and ends up with a pained grimace. “One Emrys for another, eh?”

Merlin wants to punch something. Of course, he knew. This fourteen-year-old is smarter than Merlin was at twenty. So, of course, he knew. 

“Your life is worth ten of mine. Hear that? TEN.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just looks down to his chest and another spell comes to him. “ _ **Efencume... ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige gestricaþ þis lic forod.**_ ” Merlin grunts. Time is running out and Merlin's hands have started shaking violently.

“Merlin,” Emrys demands his attention, he looks up again. Gods, he has no life left in him. Merlin’s heart sinks. “Thank you, for trying and for bringing me here.” His words are barely a whisper but he understands what they mean. Goodbye. Emrys turns his head towards his parents and starts to say something. Merlin doesn’t listen because, hell if he is giving up on him until his last breath.

“ ** _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_** ” Nothing.

“ ** _Ic hæle þina þrowunga_** ” Nothing.

“ _ **Ic ðe ðurhhæle ðinu licsar mid ðam sundorcræft ðære ealdan æ. Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie**_ ” Nothing.

“Emrys...” Merlin ignores the voice coming from behind him.

If this doesn’t work… “ ** _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ!_** ” Killgarah’s spell, the most powerful healing spell Merlin knows.  
Nothing.

_Nothing._

“He’s gone, Emrys.” He thinks it’s Iseldier speaking but he isn’t sure. But calling him Emrys feels like an insult now. Like a taunt of what he couldn’t do, who he couldn’t save.

“My name is not Emrys.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like they have ever listened to him before. He pulls his away hands from the body and looks at them.

Red. All over his palms and fingers and in between them. It’s getting washed away. Water mixed with blood dripping from his hands and onto the ground, mixing with the earth, right beside the body, right beside Emrys. Merlin looks up and would have laughed were it not for the lump in his throat choking his voice and air.

It’s raining, pouring more like. With thunder and lightning and everything.

He can make a thunderstorm within minutes without even meaning to, but can’t save a life by healing a simple arrow wound. An arrow wound that wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t dragged the boy with him. An arrow that wouldn’t have been there if the boy hadn’t tried to sacrifice himself for The Great and Mighty Emrys.

Merlin’s hand curls into fists and he looks up to the parents of the boy. “It’s my fault. That arrow was meant for me.” Merlin says in a voice that sounds hollow even to his own years, waiting for the sadness in their faces to change into anger at him. Anger for being the shittiest prophesied legend to ever exist. But they don’t. The mother just cries harder and the father just holds her tighter.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he asks in a numb voice. This turns almost all the heads in his direction. Eyes filled with pity, understanding, sadness and, Gods help him, confusion are on him. The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip a bit. Merlin stands up abruptly, letting the hand fall away (Somewhere he registers that his ankle needs attention, he ignores it). He doesn’t want comfort. But more importantly he doesn’t _deserve_ comfort.

“They are right about you lot.” He says, in the same emotionless, numb voice, backing away from the crowd and the body of a very young boy. He can feel their magic enveloping the parents and simultaneously trying to reach out to him, to comfort him. “You all are too peaceful for your own good.” He turns and then runs (limps) all the way back to Camelot.

It was that day that the druids realized that Emrys was just as human as them, if not more. It was just too little too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say 'Bye Emrys'
> 
> im so Sorry :(


	5. Interlude - Bar Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you don't think the worst part of the story is over...

Arthur gave Merlin the day off.

It’s been three days since Merlin came back from “herb picking” with a limp, thoroughly drenched with no rain or clouds in sight and something was really wrong with him.

Merlin’s face had been devoid of any emotion. There was no banter, no quick comebacks, no opinions to be told immediately after any council meetings, no nothing. He hadn’t really seemed aware of his surroundings. The only time he did was when someone asked if he was alright. Only then he had a cheerful smile with an equally convincing snip to get people off his back.

Arthur had prodded and poked Merlin into telling him what had happened but to no avail. Every time he even mentioned his mood or his ankle, he would give him the most cheerful smile and snark at Arthur to distract him. Arthur was ashamed to say, he was successful most of the time.

He hadn’t seen Merlin like this in a long time. The last time was, he thinks, around the time the Dragon had attacked Camelot. And even then, Merlin had shown some emotion, while he thought he was going unobserved. Now, there was nothing. No sadness, no anger, not even frustration. It was making Arthur jumpy, he was waiting for Merlin to snap, only unlike last time, Arthur didn’t know why and he had no words to offer till he did.

It took Arthur three days to break. He practically ordered Merlin to take the day off. With all the complaining Merlin does, one would think he would be ecstatic for a day off. Merlin, instead, had insisted that he didn't need the day off, that Arthur wouldn't be able to function without him and whatnot. Thus, the order.

After Merlin had gone, Arthur had decided to catch up on some paperwork. He had no council meetings and he had already been done with the knights training in the morning.

It takes him two hours and two bangs of his head on the table to give up on that and push it into the pile of work that he’ll just make Merlin do. If people had any idea how much of the paperwork was actually approved by Merlin and not the King, Merlin would have a crowd a bootlicker’s surrounding him, with the size rivalling Arthur’s own. 

Arthur just decides to visit the lower town, instead. It would do good to get the thoughts of a certain, brooding manservant out of his mind, and look into the life of his subjects more closely. He takes out his least inconspicuous cloak, which just happens to be the one Merlin had given Arthur a long time ago and walks out the door.

Arthur feels grateful for the schedule of the knight training to have been finished early that day, as he walks through the sharp rays of sun falling on him in the streets of the lower town. It’s been a peaceful year and it shows in the life around him. The people always have an air caution around them during the time of war, no matter if they have nothing to do with it personally. Now all the air is heavy with, are heat and constant chatter of carefree days and soothing nights. He loves times like these and after Morgana’s death, there have been plenty of them. They were there before too, but Arthur knew Morgana. She didn’t ever rest until her goal was achieved, and that fact always kept Arthur on his toes, even in the time of peace.

He knows the peace is not as absolute as his council likes to pretend, not for everyone, but he's working on it.

Arthur turns to see a crowd forming around the entrance of the Rising Sun. By the sounds coming from the middle of the crowd, it seemed like a fight. Bar fight. He wishes Gwaine is involved. He would love to work out his frustration on someone.

Arthur makes his way to the crowd. He gently pushes a person aside and the rest seem to make way for him on their own, till he is at the front of the crowd (so much for inconspicuous). He is fully prepared to break up the fight with his authority (or by launching himself in it if Gwaine in involved and drag him back by the ear) but what he sees stops him dead in his tracks.

“Merlin?!” Arthur does not squeak, because kings do not squeak.

The crowd around him quietens and Merlin looks over the shoulder of the half-conscious man he is holding upright by his collar. He doesn’t spot Arthur so he brings his attention back to the man, clocks him, straight on the face and then lets it go. The man falls in a heap on the ground and all Merlin does is looks at him with disappointment. Like he expected more from him.

_What. The. Hell?_

Merlin is looking around him on the ground and swaying like a drunkard (that’s probably because he is). There are three men lying on the ground in varying state of consciousness. Travellers from the looks it. It would explain why they attacked a known member of the royal household. They all look battered and bruised but it’s still much better than Merlin.

Merlin is sporting one black eye, a swollen jaw, a bleeding lower lip and bruises around his neck like someone tried to throttle him. Arthur is sure Merlin has many more bruises underneath those clothes, what he isn’t sure about is how the three men are lying on the ground when the only man they seem to be fighting against is Merlin. 

A wave of protectiveness washes over Arthur but before he can move, Merlin speaks.

“Come on! That was pathetic. You lot didn’t even knock me off my feet, let alone make good on your earlier threats,” he smiles at them, showing his teeth, which are coated in red.

_What. The. Actual. Hell?!_

There are so many things wrong with the picture in front of Arthur. Merlin is not an aggressive person. The only time Arthur has seen Merlin act aggressively has been in self-defence and that too pitiably. Now, he is standing in front of him battered and bruised (which in itself is very wrong) having knocked out three burly looking men in what looks like a tavern brawl. Merlin. Winning. In a tavern Brawl. While drunk. Given, Arthur has never seen Merlin drunk (despite all his trips to the tavern) and thus, has no idea what kind of a drunk Merlin is, but he is pretty sure alcohol inhibits hand-eye coordination, and not enhances it.

One of the three men stands up, visibly struggling. Merlin turns to him and gives a lope-sided grin, beckoning him with a curl of his fingers. The man charges over to Merlin, huffing and puffing with anger. He swings and Merlin dodges easily, he swings again and this time it lands square on his stomach. Merlin doubles over for a second and then straightens up again, _smiling_. It's nothing like the smile that usually graces his face. Those smiles are free and bright, as far and few they are. This is some perversely twisted version of it. 

Arthur’s frozen in place at this point. Because now there’s another wrongness added to this picture, Merlin enjoying a fight. _A fight!_

The crowd surrounding the fight and Arthur looks just as horrified as Arthur feels. They all know Merlin, have known him for fifteen years, have known him since the day he stood up to a bully Prince. But then again, no one has seen that Merlin for a long while now.

The traveller swings again at Merlin’s face, then again and again. And Merlin just takes it, his face lurching with the force of the punches. Arthur breaks out of his trance and steps towards them.

The man is bringing up his fist for the fourth time when Merlin catches his fist in his palm.

His eyes glint dangerously as his smile widens into a manic grin, “My turn,” he whisper-mumbles, that travels loudly into a crowd that has been stunned into silence.

It happens so fast; Arthur isn’t surprised that the receiver could do nothing but take it. Merlin shifts his stance and then swings with his free hand, it connects with the man’s nose with a resounding crack, then again landing one at the man’s throat. Before he can even start coughing Merlin swings again at the man’s stomach and he doubles over, just like Merlin had, only he doesn’t get back up fast enough. Merlin jerks his knee up and into his stomach then takes hold of his collar and shoves, hard enough that he stumbles, falls on his arse and passes out.

Arthur blinks at the passed-out body at his feet, incomprehensively. He is remotely aware that he is opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He looks up at Merlin, who is also watching the passed-out man too. The eerie smile has slipped off his face, but his eyes… _they look so cold, distant…_

Merlin turns his head spits blood onto the ground.

 _Like Morgana’s eyes, after her betrayal._ *

“Your punches were pathetic,” Merlin mumbles.

_Like his father had looked for months, after Morgana’s betrayal._

Merlin looks up finally spotting the crowd, and then Arthur.

_Dead._

“Arthur!” Merlin’s eyes widen and that look goes away. Arthur breaths again. “Uhh… I can explain,” he says the slur in his voice returning with the heat of the fight behind him.

Arthur tells himself that this whole thing was Merlin finally snapping but something in the back of his head tells him that that wasn’t it. Merlin’s words had seemed too calm, his actions too calculated for it to be disguised as pent up frustration. Arthur’s confusion soon turns into anger and he says, “Can you? Do tell, _Mer_ lin. How did you manage to mess up the one day off you got in maybe ever?” Because the dots were all over the place and they just weren’t connecting.

Merlin cringes, “Yes, well, you see, Gwaine challenged these men to a fight and then immediately passed out. These men didn’t see the dishonour of attacking an unconscious man, so, I had to take over.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. It sounded plausible, but Arthur had seen a bit of the fight and it just didn’t look like self-defence. It looked a lot like Merlin provoking a fight just for the sake of it. 

“What? I’m not lying. You could ask them,” he said pointing at the ground, “but, well, you’ll have to wait for that,” he frowns. 

He could hear the murmur of the townsfolk around him. Well, no need to add oil to fire, “Come on. Let’s get you to Gaius.” He says, reining his anger in for later. “Where’s Gwaine?”

“Inside.”

He sighs. He’ll just have to send someone else to get him, he thinks as Merlin stumbles his way to him. He wraps Merlin’s arm around his shoulder, puts one hand around his waist and starts back towards the castle. Sensing eyes on him, He levels as regal a glare as he can at the crowd, to make them look away and not turn a man’s low point into common gossip. He is also sure that his glare did nothing more than make them part ways for him.

On the way to the physician’s tower, Arthur’s worry for Merlin climbs higher and higher as Merlin keeps mumbling. He knows it’s a drunk man’s rambling and he shouldn’t be paying attention to it, but there has to be something really wrong with a person for even his subconscious to call himself ‘a failure’ and ‘nothing’. A shiver runs up Arthur’s spine every time he hears Merlin whisper, ‘It should have been me’.

As Arthur lays merlin down on Gaius’ patient table, he decides he is going to ask Merlin about all this when he is able. He answers all of Gaius’ worried but professional question in a daze all the while staring at Merlin and the mess of a puzzle the man has become for Arthur. Then? Then, Arthur flees.

The next day, when Merlin returns, he avoids conversations (and Arthur himself) like the plague, and Arthur lets him because he doesn’t know how to bring it up or what to say or how to say it for Merlin to actually stop, listen and _engage_. He does the same the next day too, and the next. Until, Four days after the brawl, when Merlin disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...cuz the worst is yet to come (:
> 
> *just so we r clear I 100% believe that Morgana turned so, not just evil but, deranged because Morgause did to her what Morgana did to Gwen. only she suffered for almost a year.


	6. Reach For You With My Hands Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's gonna be 9 chapters. Unless you guys want a sad ending and a new warning in the tags, then I can keep it 8 :)

She’s gone. A nine-year-old dragon that was supposed to live for over a thousand years, dead.

The last of her kind, dead.

His friend, his hatchling, dead.

And it was all his fault.

The last two weeks kept flashing in front of Merlin’s eyes as he sat in the embrasures of the battlements, legs dangling over the edge, facing the courtyard, the highest in the castle.

_“Aithusa! How did you not feel this?” Merlin says, panic tinging his voice. Aithusa’s wound was swollen and looking an angry red. Merlin opens his kit for a change of bandages, and pulls out his dagger to drain the very infected looking wing, right at where the bone was broken._

_Shit. He shouldn’t have waited to come here. His grief after Emrys’ death should have been packed up and pushed to the back of his mind. He should not have relied on Aithusa’s word on her health for a whole week, while himself hiding in the citadel. Aithusa’s not a physician, he is. She wouldn’t have been able to differentiate between growing pains, infection pain or broken bone pain. He doesn’t have any medicine for a fucking dragon. There is no way to treat this. Merlin’s breathing was bordering on hyperventilation. He should have pushed his fear of going into the forest to the back, earlier. Aithusa’s going to die and he should have… he should have…_

_“I did.” Aithusa tells him through mind-speak and nudges him with her snout._

_“What?” Merlin’s breath hitches at the implication of what she just said._

_“I did feel the infection.”_

Merlin bends a little forward with his hand pressing on the rough stones of the battlements, looking below. A fall from this height would be fatal. No, a fall from this height would mean instant death. An instant, painless death. Would that be so bad?

Merlin looks up over the view of the city and takes a deep breath. It’s a heart-warming view. The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky a multitude of pink, purple, orange and blue, blending perfectly into each other. The city lying below with different houses giving it a low skyline. The life of the city dying down with the approaching night.  
The site used to make him feel better, clear his head. It slowly lost its appeal though. Just like everything in his life. 

Merlin looks over to the courtyard and spots six horses approaching. The King and his Knights. Merlin zeros in on Arthur, it’s not very hard with his golden hair and him being in the lead of the party. Merlin smiles ruefully. Isn’t that another person he failed? 

Merlin was supposed to protect Arthur till he became this great king that would unite all of Albion and bring magic back to the land. Merlin only got one-third of his destiny right. Gods know, he is thankful that the successful part was the protection. Merlin seriously doesn’t know what he would do without Arthur. But now it’s fifteen years later and Merlin doesn’t know what to do even _with_ Arthur. 

Arthur thinks magic killed his mother and his father. He thinks it turned his sister against him. He has even more of an incentive to start a purge than Uther ever did. But what does he do instead? He legalizes druids. He lets them practice magic in the heart of Camelot. 

Merlin can’t stop the sigh that escapes his lips.

Because that’s it. Arthur refuses to listen to anything about magic if it doesn’t contain the word ‘druid’ in the same sentence. If any magic attack comes to Arthur’s attention, he rushes off to Aglain, the druid leader that lives in the city, to ask for a solution. Usually (i.e. when Excalibur is not needed to solve the threat) Aglain spews some nonsense about spells he can do to deter the problem and then tells Merlin about it, then, Merlin deal with it. Alone.

Merlin has tried, on multiple occasions, to point out things to Arthur ranging from the benefits of magical healers to the fact that Morgana’s madness had less to do with magic and more to do with fear. Arthur has this belief that something as ‘dangerous as magic’ can only be entrusted with the quiet and peaceful druids and just dismisses Merlin (with the help of flying objects and an extended list of chores). Though Merlin has a suspicion that this belief has more to do with guilt than with actual, well, actual belief. 

And despite all that Merlin would die a thousand times over before he let any harm come to Arthur, emotional or physical. 

So, yes, Merlin understands what Aithusa did. As much as he doesn’t want to. as much, as it hurts, he understands, he does. Because Merlin would like to die a thousand time over to protect Arthur, but he would also not hesitate to take his own life if Arthur were to die before him, especially if Arthur died thinking that Merlin had betrayed him. Merlin closes his eyes against the tears prickling his eyes.

_“Why?” Merlin says hoarsely, after all the shouting and the crying and the begging._

_“I think you know why.” Aithusa sounds acquiescent._

_“Morgana.” Merlin whispers._

_Aithusa hums._

_“I’m…,” sorry? That just sounds agonisingly inadequate. He trails off. Aithusa just shakes her head. They sit in silence for a few minutes or hours, Merlin doesn’t know, too lost in his own head._

_“Merlin?” He looks up to find Aithusa looking at him with a look full of pleading. “Stay?”_

_He wants to say ‘of course’ or tell her how stupid her request is, that there is no way he’s letting her out of his sight now, but Merlin just nods, not trusting his voice over the lump in his throat._

Merlin just wanted peace. He snorts, humourlessly. Isn’t that how all this shitstorm started. He opens his eyes and looks directly above him. 

He remembers Killgarah’s words. _"How small you are for such a great destiny.”_ He remembers the hope that had taken hold of him at those words. He had thought, finally, someone telling him what to do with all that magic, no matter how ridiculous the task sounded at the time. Now he remembers those words and thinks, _yeah, no shit._

_“I know what you are thinking, Merlin. Don’t” Aithusa breaks the silence, well not really._

_Merlin had been tending to Aithusa for more than a week, draining the wound, redoing the bandages, hunting for them both and prolonging the inevitable…_

_Aithusa was rarely lucid these days, or awake for that matter. Skin hot to the touch and flushed even in its whiteness. Right now, she was definitely awake and in control of her mind speech and was doing this irritating thing she always did; Reading Merlin like an open book._

_“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin tries, still unable to rip his eyes away from the wound._

_“You are the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth, Merlin. It would be a stupid thing to do.” Aithusa says gently and it irks something inside Merlin that he doesn’t want to name._

_“You are one to talk. The last dragon dying of infection,” he spits and immediately regrets the ache that starts up in his chest._

_Aithusa just laughs. Merlin is pretty sure that had she not been in this state of near delirium because of her fever she would not have found it funny._

_“I don’t have a destiny, Merlin. I don’t have an Arthur,” she says after a while. The ‘anymore’ is left unsaid but is heard loud and clear._

_“Do you remember coming out of your egg?”_

_Aithusa looks at him like he’s mad. He just looks back._

_“Yes. Vaguely.” She says, hesitantly._

_“Do you remember Killgarah being there?”_

_“No…”_

_Merlin looks at his hands in his lap instead of meeting her eyes. “He was there. He was there and he, when he saw you, he told me that a white dragon bodes well for Albion, for me and Arthur and for the land that we were to build together.” Merlin looks at her then, a bitter smile colouring his features, “I think you dying, Aithusa, is a pretty damn clear sign that that isn’t happening.”_

_“Merlin,” she says anger clear in her weak voice, “Killgarah’s dead,” Merlin winces at the bluntness of her words, “Let his words die with him,” she says, her anger manifesting in the thin trails of smoke leaving her nostrils in tiny huffs._

That was the last actual conversation they had. Aithusa spent the last of her days living the nightmares of her life in her fever-induced sleep and sending indecipherable messages to Merlin in mind-speak.

_“You know, I don’t blame you anymore, right?” she sent with the last of her breath._

__

__

_“You know, I love you, right?”_

Merlin liked to think she had heard him.

Merlin hadn’t cried, he had cried enough in the two weeks. He had just stepped away from her body and started digging.

It took two more days for him to leave the clearing. He had stepped out of the clearing, dropped the spell around the clearing and then too tired to walk, had teleported to the battlements. 

It was a good way to go, he thinks, absently moving his dangling legs to-and-fro. Not suicide, but still total control over the result. It was a bit prolonged though. His fault.  
It is a good way to go, he thinks and stands up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I really don't think Merlin wouldn't have checked even ONCE with Killgarah about Aithusa for the two years she was captured. I mean that man was crying like a father cries when their baby is born as when Aithusa came out of her egg. Illegal or not, he would have at least checked! him not checking is way too OOC for me. 
> 
> and I know its not merlin's fault and I shouldn't punish him like this. but then most of the shit that happened was also not Merlin's fault but he still got burnt of it. so...


	7. Are We Dancing Like We're Burning in Paradise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile Arthur...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOT THE FORESHADOWING!

Arthur and the Knights were returning from another search patrol for Merlin. Looking over the courtyard and seeing people go about their lives was disconcerting, to say the least. Because in the last two weeks Arthur’s world has tilted beyond reorientation.

It had seemed like a kidnapping first. A little asking around had told them that the last time Merlin was seen in the citadel was when he was spotted sprinting like there were hounds on his heels, from the stables to his quarters.

The knights had scoured the forests, the city and there had been no trace of anything. For ten days there had been no news, neither good nor bad. After that Arthur had joined the search. 

That was when it had started to seem less and less like a kidnapping. 

There had been no trial, no ransom note, no messengers from the unallied kingdoms, and no… body. The man had disappeared into thin air. 

Arthur hadn’t wanted to believe it. He didn’t want to think Merlin just up and left. But once the idea took root, it was hard to ignore the signs. Merlin hadn’t seemed very happy lately. He wasn’t sad per se, more… out of it. Like life wasn’t enough anymore or he was lost to it, not knowing how to live it.

He hadn’t noticed it before, after all, it wasn’t sudden. The only reason he noticed was Merlin’s behaviour as of late. The change in Merlin had been very gradual but it had still felt like a punch in the gut when he had realised.

It had started with the smiles or maybe the eyes, how he only smiled when he thought someone was looking. Then the constant chatter had gone down, only coming up when Merlin knew Arthur needed it, unlike before when no one could get the man to shut up. The utterly devoted look in Merlin’s eyes had also dimmed, just like his smiles. The look that Arthur had depended upon when all hope was lost and Arthur stopped believing in himself. The look that was a testament and purpose of Merlin’s loyalty.

 _Merlin doesn’t think me to be the great king he used to, now I’m just good, like any other half-decent person put upon the throne._ And Arthur has no idea what changed or how to change it back.

Arthur climbs off his horse handing the reins to a passing stable boy and starts making his way inside. 

The worst part about all this is the disgustingly long amount of time it took Arthur to realise that something was wrong with his best friend. When said best friend would have been able to tell if something was wrong with Arthur within hours if not seconds. He had an inkling about Merlin these past few months but thinking he had all the time in the world, he kept postponing and procrastinating (being emotionally repressed has its disadvantages). 

So, with all that in mind, Arthur had gone to Ealdor with a heavy heart. He didn’t know what he would do if he found Merlin there. He didn’t want to imagine what his life would be without his best friend if he refused to return with him. It wasn’t until he reached Ealdor and found no trace of Merlin there that he realised how much better that outcome would have been. 

The only sign that Merlin still existed had only been discovered a few hours prior, when-

A flash of red snaps him out of his revive before he can step inside. He looks up and his heart plummets.

_What-_

He starts running before he even realises. Hearing Leon shout his name behind him does nothing to slow him down. 

“Battlements!” he all but shouts. There is a beat before he hears a lot of metal armour jangling behind him, signalling all the five knights following him with the same panic lighting their footsteps. 

They tear through the castle hallways, unaware of the panic the sight of the King and his most trusted knights sprinting with the most terrified expression on their faces is setting in the heart of the servants they pass by.

“Merlin,” Arthur hears Lancelot speak when they pass Gwen. Arthur doesn’t need to look behind or hear the rustle of skirts to know Gwen has joined their running party.  
Arthur forces himself to a stop at the foot of the stairs that lead to the battlements.

“I need discretion. We don’t want to startle him,” he says and then starts climbing, not waiting for a reply.

Arthur opens the door slowly. His heart jumps to his throat at the sight in front of him. Merlin is standing right where Arthur saw him sitting. On the edge. His back to him and head bent down, looking at the cold hard ground below.

“What are you doing?” Arthur says, his voice barely above a whisper. There is no response for a moment before he moves, or twitches more like.

“Thinking. You should try it sometime,” Arthur doesn’t know what he expected Merlin to sound like after two weeks, but it wasn’t this. Though there was nothing wrong with his voice (or even his body for as much as he could see), it didn’t sound right for the quip it had just voiced.

“Well, you can do it with your feet on the ground. Get down.” 

Merlin turns his head and looks over his shoulder simultaneously leaning forward a fraction, “Why? Am I making you nervous?” Again, his voice doesn’t sound right. Too straight, too off.

“Merlin,” Arthur practically growls, not daring to step forward and snatching him back himself.

Merlin finally turns around. He meets his eyes reluctantly. When they do, he pointedly rolls his eyes, “Fine,” he grumbles and jumps down into the safety of the ground. Arthur can feel the wave of relief rolling over himself and coming from the party behind him, but it’s short-lived as they take in the state of Merlin.

His clothes are a mess. Mud and twigs and what he suspects (and hopes) to be animal blood sticking to them like he hasn’t changed in two weeks (probably hasn’t). His Neckerchief is missing and Arthur spots multiple old and new scars peaking from beneath the laces of his tunic. Arthur frowns, those weren’t there the last time he saw Merlin without his neckerchief. Then he realises that was years and years ago.

Merlin’s always been pale, but right now he looks downright translucent. His hair looks longer than he remembers, curling around his protruding ears and the beginning of his nape. His stubble not really a stubble anymore. He looks weary, no, exhausted. Bone deep exhaustion has a hold of him. but all of that… it’s not even the worst part. The worst part is The Look. The dead look that has been making more and more appearances in the past few months, the look that seems to be permanently etched into his face now. The look that, Arthur’s sad to admit, seems more at home on Merlin’s face than the smiles he had been giving for so long.

“You look like shit,” Merlin says, flatly. Well, not flatly. There was a hint of concern there. Because this is _Mer_ lin after all. The man would be looking to comfort someone with a sword sticking out of his gut.

Well, Arthur’s not going to put up with that bullshit, “Merlin, where were you? We have been looking for you, EVERYWHERE!”

He hadn’t meant to shout the last word but it just happened. The concern goes right out of Merlin’s eyes at that. The lingering _deadness_ in them replaced by something so broken that Arthur almost takes a step back.

“Everywhere? Did you perhaps happen to come across a grave? Did you pay your respects? Because you know, she deserved it. Or did you-” Arthur’s gaping by the time Merlin interrupts himself and snaps his mouth shut, covering it with his hand for extra measure.

Arthur had suspected, from the first look he had gotten of Merlin, he had been almost sure but now Merlin had confirmed it and looking at him, his eyes filled with unshed tears and his free hand balled into a fist to stop it from shaking, Arthur’s heart breaks a little for his friend.

They _had_ come across a grave, just a few hours ago. He still wasn’t sure how the earlier search parties hadn’t found the clearing with the grave. Arthur’s breathing had stopped short for a while at the sight of the familiar neckerchief around a hollowed-out bark that served as a gravestone at the start of a freshly dug ground in a clearing. Then he had walked to the front of it and seen an unfamiliar name etched in – vaguely - Merlin’s handwriting and finally breathed.

After that, they had looked around and it became obvious in minutes that Merlin had been here for all the two weeks’ time he’d been missing. Arthur knew, in all his fifteen years of knowing the enigma that was Merlin, that the guy couldn’t be found by anyone if he didn’t want to be found, but this was just absolute shit. How had no one come across this place?

Seeing as Merlin had made no effort to hide his tracks around the clearing, they had hoped for some tracks leading out and to wherever he had gone to but no such luck. All the freshest of the tracks never lead anywhere far. They had spent a good few hours trying to look but then had given up when the sun started to set, to head back, deciding to come back the next day.

Now he knew. That grave was for someone Merlin knew. That grave was dug by Merlin himself. Merlin had just lost someone. Which explained a lot of his recent behaviour. This, someone, had meant a lot to Merlin if anything that was happening right now was any indication.

Only, Arthur swallowed, he wasn’t sure it was someone or more than one. The grave had been huge. Certainly, much bigger than is needed for one person.

“Merlin,” Arthur snaps out of his thoughts as Lancelot calls for his friend.

“Never mind,” Merlin says, cutting Lancelot off and straightening up, switching from broken to blank so fast, Arthur experiences a whiplash, “I’m sorry. I- I’m rambling. I should- Gaius must be worried.” He makes to walk past them but Arthur takes hold of his wrist, maybe a bit too tight.

“Merlin,” he pauses, not knowing how to comfort him. Gwen comes to his rescue.

“You know we are here, right? For you. Always.” She gives him a watery smile. 

Merlin tries smiling back, but gives up halfway through and just says in a voice that’s more a whisper, “Yeah,” No emotion breaking through.

He pulls his wrist out of Arthur’s grasp gently but firmly. Within the time of a heartbeat, he is inside and making his way down the stairs.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring into space until he feels a tug at his sleeve and then a soft hand curling and pressing into his. He looks up and into the kind eyes of his wife, brimming with sadness and sympathy.

“Should we go after him?” She asks softly as if speaking too loud or with too much emotion might break the moment, might shatter this pseudo peace they have going for all seven of them.

“No,” he says, his voice coming out as a croak. Clearing his throat, he tries again with all the royalty he can muster, “No, let him be. Let Gaius help him for now. But we talk to him, first thing tomorrow.”

He looks to his knights and his wife, asking without words if they had any objections. After all, this is a matter of their friend, their brother, Arthur is not going to order them around about how to deal with their grieving friend. Especially not when he had no way to make sure if what he was doing was the right way.

Nobody says anything, though Lancelot, who probably is their best bet at getting Merlin to talk right now, looks hesitant. Arthur waited for him to come to a decision. Sensing eyes on him, Lancelot looks at him and nods.

So, it's decided. Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could be considered a filler. I mean it was important, don't get me wrong. it just didn't have much on plot.  
> I think the chapter title would have been more accurate if I had shown how happy Arthur and his subjects were, but I just couldn't fit it in with all his worrying for Merlin. :(
> 
> also, happy ending it is!
> 
> also also, the next chapter might take a while. it's almost complete, but the end is giving me small (read: huge) problems. plus I have my midterms coming up and I really, REALLY should start studying for them. TT-TT


	8. Can you say it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's darkest before dawn, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this 5k monstrosity of hurt/no comfort!

“Rise and Shine,” Merlin chirps. Arthur groans. The sun streaming in the window hits him straight on the face, way too strong for the time to be anywhere near dawn, which means he is late. He clutches at his pillow, ready to throw it at Merlin for his incompetence when everything from the past few weeks comes rushing back. He shoots up onto his elbows and looks for Merlin. He’s rummaging through his wardrobe, with his back turned to him. He turns around with two tunics in his head and looks at Arthur in askance.

He looks fine. At the first glance at least. Arthur had thought maybe a change of clothes and an actual bed for the night would do him good but anybody looking at him for longer than a second could see his misery. The circles that are more bruises than darkness underneath his eye, the bloodshot eyes, the hunched frame and the blank face all indicate how much Merlin is just going through the notions.

Arthur waves towards one of the tunics, not really seeing either. He wonders if he should give Merlin time off, to mourn, or maybe go visit his mother’s grave. But then immediately dismisses the thought. If there is anything Arthur and Merlin have in common, it’s the fact that they both grieve through action. Inaction just worsens their cases. Of course, Gwen would argue that what he does is called repression not grieving but Arthur’s known to ignore her from time to time. 

“The weather is beautiful today.” Merlin’s voice pulls him out of his sleepy daze.

He scowls at Merlin’s back, where he is pulling out the rest of his outfit. If Merlin thinks that they should be talking about something as non-consequential as weather, he is right out of his might. But then Arthur stops and actually thinks about it. 

Arthur had noticed it a long time ago. How Merlin’s tongue always gets looser in the forest. How, for someone who absolutely despises hunting and does everything in his power to sabotage it, there is no denying the open ease that settles on Merlin, lighting his now-permanent frowns and straightening his ever-drooping shoulders and sometimes even bringing the old spark back into his eyes. 

He even asked Merlin about it once not a long time ago. He had just mumbled something about the lack of bodies of defenceless woodland creatures and went over to the stables, even though that hadn’t had been one of his duties for a long time. Arthur had seen it for the deflection it was and had let it go. But since then he never failed to notice the effect nature had on Merlin. Arthur might like staying outside for the aim of physical exertion and his need to always be on the move but Merlin truly belonged out there. Not just beneath the open sky but surrounded by wildlife.

A hunt is probably the best thing he could do for him right now.

A hunt it is then.

“Prepare the horses, we are going on a hunt. Alert the knights. They are coming with.” Arthur delights in the fake groan of displeasure Merlin lets out. 

Yes, a hunt will do them all good.

***

When Arthur reaches the courtyard an hour after that, it is to see one less face than he expected.

“Where’s Lancelot?” He inquires.

“His name was on the morning patrol,” Leon says, looking at Arthur questioningly. He realises the others are too. Clearly asking why did he send Lancelot, their best chance at getting Merlin to talk, on a patrol when they decided to talk to him today.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. He didn’t put Lancelot’s name up for that last night. He remembers it was Elyan’s turn for the patrol but deliberately passing it up because he wanted all of Merlin’s friend around him when the talk happened. There is no way he put his name on the board, even by mistake.

He looks over to Merlin, who is attaching his supplies to Llamrei with more concentration than necessary. 

It’s too late anyway. Maybe they’ll just take the same path as the patrol and ask Lance to join them if they cross paths. Maybe.

“Right,” He climbs Hengroen and signals the knights then takes the reins and starts their journey.

***  
Everyone tries to engage Merlin into a conversation. Half a day passes and they get a total of five words out of him. The cloudless day and the forest have no effect on him whatsoever. Arthur has never seen Gwaine fail at conversing so spectacularly. Arthur tries his best to not hunt at all, but they did have to catch a few rabbits for supper. He makes a point to let Merlin know that it’s out of necessity and not for fun – in his underhanded ways, not directly of course - but it seems to do little good. He has this look on his face. It tells him, he is not really here and definitely thinking of something keeping him engaged enough. Arthur prays it’s not the thoughts of the people he lost. Grief and determination never mix well, always ending with things ranging from vengeance to genocide.

He barely manages the wince, thinking of his father. After the incident with the Horn of Cathbhadh, Arthur had done more than just come to terms with his father’s disapproval. He had gone through his every decision. Granted, he had started a long time after the incident but he had. He had looked through records going as far as the few years before the purge and then he had stopped.

Arthur had never been a runner in his life. He always preferred facing everything, be it beasts or betrayals, head-on, with courage and a strong mind. But as he kept going back and back, the horror of what his father had done had been too much. He was sure he had shut down for a while. He doesn’t know how long he was trapped inside his head while he thought about all the things he had blindly done for his father. Just following him into whatever, because of the absolute trust he had on the man. He had trusted his King, his father to not lead him astray and he had done so in the most horrific of ways.

When Arthur had snapped out of it, courtesy to Merlin, of course, he had put everything in a box locked the box and threw it and the key into the darkest depths of his conscious. And then he ran. He ran as fast and far away from the horror of his youth never to look back.

He knew his decision to legalize druids and their ways had to do more with penance than with righteousness. He had a plan and it was going swimmingly well. The plan was simple: Let the general populace get used to the most peaceful and joyous magic after more than three decades of executions for even being suspected of it and then let anyone perform it. But for that, he had to have a firm hold over the population doing the magic. He didn’t want riots and witch burnings out of pure fear turned hatred. Druids were the best solution to that.

He refused to acknowledge the reason behind his change of heart. And he absolutely refused to tell anyone of his plan. He had come close to telling Merlin about it a few times but he knows telling Merlin means telling him the logics and the details and the _reasoning_. And that always stopped him dead in his tracks. He just had a plan and he was working it. That’s it. No need to go any further. Arthur had never been a runner but his father, even in death, had made him one.

Everyone he had ever held in high regard had betrayed him one way or another; Uther, Morgana, Agravaine, Lancelot, Gwen, even Merlin had. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out after all the facts had come out. Morgause hadn’t lied. Merlin had. The reason for showing him a vision of his mother might have been malicious but it had been the truth. And Merlin, the well-intended idiot had lied to him to stop him becoming a king through patricide, from murdering his father in a fit of rage. He hadn’t begrudged Merlin for lying to him then. What felt like betrayal is that it is nearly thirteen years later and Merlin has never thought of telling him the truth.

Arthur shakes himself out of the useless train of thought. Merlin has _always_ been there for him. it was time to return the favour.

***

They stop at the lake and make camp as the sunsets. The rest of the day had gone as well as one might expect. Merlin had gone more silent and they had all eventually given up for the day. Arthur had half a mind to send someone for Lancelot.

They are all seated around the campfire polishing swords, drinking and whatnot when Merlin comes back with the cleaned pot and plates they had used for dinner.

Arthur expected him to go straight for the bedrolls but instead, he sits down across Arthur, the fire dwindling down between them.

“You know, Arthur,” Each and every head snaps up to look at Merlin, anticipating what was practically his first words of the day, “Guinevere never cheated on you.”

His voice is barely above a whisper and he is staring into the fire with a maniacal look that certainly does not bode well. Then Merlin looks up straight at Arthur, his face going blank and his words catch up.

“Pardon?” 

“She never cheated on you,” he says each word carefully, like speaking to a child. “And Lancelot never betrayed you. They were both under enchantments since Morgana didn’t want to see Guinevere at her supposed throne.”

Arthur gapes. Merlin says all this with no emotion in his voice or face. The only movement on him is the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.

Arthur muddles through his memory of the incident from more than eight years ago. Tries to remember any signs of enchantment. All he remembers is Gwen being lost on herself and nothing about Lancelot. He remembers asking her, or more like shouting at her. He remembers her apologising and being just _so lost_ and Arthur not listening or thinking or seeing through the maze of pain and _hurt_ , because they had been so happy then, one day away from their happily ever after than he had found her kissing Lancelot in the courtroom, of all places.

No, he hadn’t found her. Agravaine had.

“H-how did you know?” Arthur asks through the thick of his confusion.

Merlin nods looking above Arthur now, behind him. 

“Lance had been enchanted through something in his food. He remembered giving Guinevere a bracelet. The bracelet must have been enchanted.”

Merlin is still talking detachedly. Like it’s a story he is reciting, no emotions, no friends, no humans involved. Arthur doesn’t know what to think let alone say. 

Lancelot and Guinevere’s betrayal had given him a wound that had taken the better part of a year to get over. Those months Merlin had probably been the only one who kept him running the kingdom, no matter how harsh or cold he had been. For a lack of a better word, Merlin had been his training dummy when he didn’t have time for actual training dummies. 

Now he is telling him that all that heartbreak and pain and suffering for everyone involved had been a stupid enchantment. That there was never a need for him to come to terms with a spouse who had cheated on him. 

Now that he had spent eight years with his kind-hearted and ever-giving wife and Queen and he knows her more than he knows himself, of course, it makes sense that Gwen would never cheat on him. 

And Lancelot? The noblest knight who still never looks Gwen in the eyes. He would never abandon his morals like that. He would sooner die.

After all, it had been his uncle that had told him about it. Why did Arthur never question it before?

“Why now?” Arthur asks, running his hands through his hair.

Merlin’s lips curl upward at one side, not a smile, something mirthless. He is still not looking at Arthur, “You’d have never believed Lance over your uncle and I didn’t realize about Her Majesty the Queen until Arnold.” 

Arthur blinks at him. Trying to ignore the clawing, uncomfortable feeling climbing in his gut, he looks away from Merlin, knowing he is speaking from personal experience. After all, he had trusted his uncle over Merlin _and_ Gaius.

“Lord Arnold?” Leon speaks sounding very confused. 

Everyone knows what happened between Gwen and Arnold, how he had tried to grope her and had actually shouted at her for not responding in kind. The thought of that man still makes his blood boil. 

But no one knows what he had done to Merlin. The knights all had their doubts, but no one knew for certain. It hadn’t been Arthur’s place no matter how much he had wanted to and Merlin always had an uncanny ability to dodge questions.

“He had given her a bracelet too!” Elyan announces and Arthur’s eyes widen as he looks at Merlin. 

“That thing was enchanted?” Arthur demands from him.

Merlin is looking at the dying embers now as he shakes his head, “I removed the enchantment from it before he could give it to the Queen.”

“You removed it? How? How did you even know it was enchanted in the first place?” Arthur says disbelievingly. 

“I sensed it,” Merlin replies in the same dead tone, slowly raising his eyes up to meet Arthur’s.

“You sensed it,” Arthur repeats dumbly. There it is. He can feel it in the air and suddenly this hunting trip doesn’t seem like a good idea. He is trying not to think, scared to look over the edge of the cliff. Scared of what he’ll find. So, he tries to avoid it. Until Merlin (as usual) pushes him off the edge.

He hums, “Yes. You see, I am magic,” the word ‘magic’ is accompanied by a swirl of gold in his best friend’s eyes and the campfire violently climbing up over their heads for a second and then dying out completely.

Everyone is on their feet within a second, except Merlin. Arthur doesn’t know how many swords are out. He knows there’s more than one and he knows that his is one of them, pointing straight at Merlin’s neck.

***

Merlin’s still looking at him, deep into his eyes, completely unbothered by the sword on him. 

“You are a sorcerer,” Arthur whispers, tasting the disbelief on his tongue, not needing his voice in the quiet that had befallen the clearing. 

“Warlock,” Merlin replies, his eyes flashing gold again as he slowly stands up, hands raised as a show of surrender. As if he needed hands to attack. But no Magical feat accompanied the gold in his eyes. 

Arthur knew what the difference meant which just made his heartache all the more as Merlin continued, “Sorcerers learn magic, warlocks learn control of the magic they already possess.”

Arthur had done his research. He knows exactly what Merlin is talking about. Which meant he also knows that most warlocks and witches develop their magic in their mid-teens, meaning Merlin has had magic all the time Arthur has known him.

 _All the time._

His head is reeling with the force of the knowledge that is shifting, changing, twisting, losing meaning inside. 

It’s Merlin, then, he realises. His Guardian. The sorcerer who has been protecting him all these years. The sorcerer whose existence he first came aware of in the caves of Balor when he was looking for the Morteous flower, and then forgot all about till his father’s ghost’s actions forced him into magical studies, only to discover that creatures like Griffons and questing beasts don’t die without magic. That afanc need both fire and air to die. That stone gargoyles don’t come to life and then turn to stone all by themselves. That immortal armies don’t turn to dust on their own as if they have some time limit to their immortality. That high priestesses as powerful as Morgana don’t die from a simple sword wound.

It had bothered him for months when he understood that there was someone protecting him and his kingdom from the shadows. He had pulled at his hair, spent sleepless nights trying to determine the reason for such a thing. A powerful sorcerer protecting the prince then later king of Camelot where magic was banned upon death. 

His first conclusion was the bigger picture. Protecting Arthur and Camelot meant either the sorcerer wanted to come into the good graces of the future king to be exempted from the law or maybe make the future king see the good of magic, to lift the ban.

But then no one came forward to claim the reward. No one tried to tell him what had actually happened in those blatantly magical incidents. 

He hadn’t given up exactly, but whoever they were, had patience, they had been doing this from way before Arthur was even Crown Prince. And Arthur had no leads. So, he had resigned himself to wait, watch the shadows but after Morgana, there had been barely any magical threats and after the druids came to live in the city, Aglain had handled most of the problems. 

Now, this was his answer.

Merlin. Warlock. Guardian.

It hurts that Merlin never told him, that he is telling him now in his grief-stricken mind when decisions are never sound. With Arthur anger is never far behind hurt. He doesn’t put his sword down, out of pettiness or anger. He isn’t going to use it, of course not, but right now he is hurt and he is not going to let Merlin off so easy. 

Arthur stares him down, letting his anger show on his face. Merlin is probably going to misinterpret the reason behind it but maybe that’s what Arthur wants. 

“I’m dragoon, the great,” is the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

Arthur feels his eyes narrow in confusion. 

“I use an ageing spell,” He says correctly sensing his look and clarifying in a monotonous voice. There is a choking noise that follows the declaration from somewhere behind Arthur.

Arthur had forgiven Dragoon long, long ago for his father’s death. In the start yes, it didn’t make sense how a sorcerer as old as dragoon messed up a simple healing spell. But, that was what it was, a mess up. Dragoon had no reason to kill Uther, he was already dying. If he wanted some sick revenge, wanted to be the One who killed Uther Pendragon, he didn’t look like it. He had looked devastated like the world had turned against him, like all the hope in the world died with the old man lying dead between them. And that made sense if his earlier words were to be taken into account. 

He’d said he wanted Arthur to see the good in magic. And he was right, had the old sorcerer succeeded in reviving his father, Arthur would have started looking up magic and the purge before his father would have taken the control of the kingdom back from him.

Then Gaius had said how Dragoon had actually tried to help and Arthur had believed it. He hadn’t forgiven him, but he had decided to let it all go.

And then, Camlann happened, Arthur watched as the silhouette of an old man with a cane and long hair had rained down lightening upon Morgana and her army and turned the tide on the battle that could have so easily been a slaughter. That’s when he had forgiven him.

To this day Arthur considered Dragoon as the identity of his secret Guardian but had to keep giving it up because he hadn’t heard a peep from him after Camlann. He really was the perfect candidate except for the fact that he was never there.

Now, this was his answer.

Merlin. Warlock. Guardian. Dragoon.

Another memory reminds Arthur why he has no right to be angry at Merlin. He remembers his words:

_All I know for sure is that I've lost both my parents to magic. It is pure evil. I'll never lose sight of that again._

Arthur doesn’t realize he is lowering his sword until its motion falters at the jut of Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin’s brow twitches but he never looks away from Arthur. He has this alert calculation in his eyes and Arthur doesn’t know what to make of it.

“I poisoned Morgana way before she betrayed you,” Merlin says, his voice finally having something. Is it urgency? Eagerness?

Arthur freezes. And so does his mind. What is he-

“What are you talking about?” Arthur’s anger is very quickly getting aided by pure confusion. 

“I laced her water with hemlock. Held her in my arms as she chocked for air. I am the reason she turned to Morgause,” Merlin says, somehow managing to sound sick and taunting at the same time.

Or was this his answer?

Merlin. Warlock. Guardian. Dragoon. Traitor?

“No, you didn’t,” Arthur grits out, his voice shaking with repressed anger.

“I wish,” and there is a tinge of regret on his blank face.

“Why?”

Merlin only shrugs in reply and the movement is so tense and fake in its nonchalance that Arthur actually pauses. Something is not right here. 

Why is he confessing crimes from more than a decade ago that have no effect on their lives now? Lancelot and Gwen were forgiven a long time ago; Dragoon hasn’t been spotted for almost five years now, and Morgana has been dead for just as long. So, what is going on in Merlin’s treacherous mind?

Arthur doesn’t realise how the anger has visibly drained from his body; he doesn’t realise how his glare has turned to a scowl. But Merlin does.

"I released The Great dragon,” and just like that, all thoughts fly out of his head.

Arthur steps forward even as his sword presses against Merlin’s throat, pushing his elbow back, so his face is closer to Merlin’s.

“Tell me, you’re lying,” Arthur spits. Merlin doesn’t even flinch.

“Sire-,” Percival tries to intercepts the quickly escalating situation.

“Why would I?” His eyes flashes and a small spark appears between their faces, there and gone in a second. 

And maybe it’s the slight movement from the knights he senses in his periphery or maybe its’s that spark that Merlin’s trying to goad him with or maybe it’s the light in his eyes, that Arthur hasn’t seen for so long, even after the gold has left them, that Arthur understands. 

The anger flips into horror just then and Arthur steps back.

Everything clicks then. The taunting and the confessions, that must have more stories behind them than Merlin’s letting on, or might just be lies. He has certainly proven he can do that very well, has done that for the better part of two decades. 

Arthur realises what Merlin is doing and it sends a chill up his spine and at the same time lurches his heart up in his throat. He starts lowering his now trembling sword and sees the moment Merlin realises. 

It happens too fast. The look in Merlin's eyes changes from faint maniacal glee to confusion to determination in a fraction of a second and he lunges forward. Battle-hardened instincts ingrained in Arthur's very skin don't let him lower his sword in time, effectively impaling Merlin straight through the centre of his chest.

"NO!”

Merlin starts to fall with nothing but relief on his face and Arthur yields his hold on the hilt of his sword to catch him. He eases him down to the ground and shifts his head onto his lap. 

He could hear his father screaming at the part of Arthur that was shrivelling up at the idea of what was to come next. _He is a sorcerer. Filthy scum. Take hold of your sword and twist it, push it deeper._ But louder were the screams of the fire in the courtyard, burning bright with a life of its own and louder still the screams of the druid children he and his men had slaughtered all those years ago. 

“What did I do? Shit, Merlin. Merlin,” Arthur murmurs as the rest of the knights surround them. Merlin’s tunic is rapidly turning red even with the sword still lodged in his chest.  
There is no way Merlin is making out of this alive.

“You didn’t do shit,” Merlin chokes out, more blood coming out than words, “I did.”

“Why? You, idiot, why?” and now Arthur’s choking too, it’s just not on something so red.

Merlin smiles in return, his eyes fluttering shut. The image so parallel to the day from a few weeks ago from the tavern brawl. How he had naively thought that Merlin was enjoying it. it wasn't the fight; it was the pain. Physical to balance the emotional. Or maybe to feel against the numbness of everything. 

The fight had been a cry for help, whether Merlin sent it knowingly or not but it was. It was and Arthur had been too blind to see it.

“Keep your eyes open,” He sobs, blinking furiously when the tears start blurring his vision, “Merlin. Merlin!” He tugs at his hair, hard, afraid of jostling him in any other way for the damage the sword might do.

Merlin, blessedly, opens his eyes. Every breath he takes is shallower than the last and Arthur shoves aside the thought that says it’s only a matter of time. 

He takes Merlin’s hand and brings it to his wound, “Use your magic, Merlin. Heal yourself. Come on.”

Merlin’s hand wraps around the sword weakly. His eyes gold and Arthur flinches, helplessly, still not used to the flash of gold in his friend’s eyes. The sword disappears and Arthur grits his teeth because the blood is now flowing alarmingly fast, but waits. Merlin’s hand just falls off, almost lifeless.

“Hey, no. You can do it. come on, Merlin. It’s just a little scratch,” Arthur urges, bringing his hand back to his wound. 

“I can’t,” the two words seem to take all his breath. He pauses, painfully breathing in, all the while Arthur’s desperation builds. “Excalibur’s not a normal sword.”

“Well, try,” Arthur doesn’t even try to sound composed.

“I can’t,” Another painful, small stuttering breath, “don’t want to.”

“Yes, you do. I command you. Heal yourself,” He had all the surety of the world in his voice but he knows. Gods, he _knows._

“No,” he says with all the surety missing from Arthurs's voice. “I’ve had enough Arth-,” he breaks off, his voice catching and face contorting with pain, his unfocused gaze on Arthur. 

“I’m done. I’m s-sorry.”

Merlin lifts a hand and tiredly puts it on Arthur’s cheek, unseeing to the red he is smearing there, a faint smile touching his blood coated lips, “If you get… another servant, don't get a… bootlicker.” 

The words bring back an obscure memory of watered-down wine and smell of Gaius’ medicine in firelit chambers. But the memory is too distant to hold and slips from his mind when Merlin’s hand starts sliding from his cheek.

His own hand surges up and holds the other’s hand there, “Please,” He whispers, his other hand finding its way to Merlin’s wound and pressing in hopes of doing something, anything, “Please.”

It hurt, oh god, it hurt. Merlin was right there, merely inches away from him but he was still leaving. Leaving him. Arthur wasn't sure he himself was breathing anymore. His sobs were choking him and his heart thudding dangerously fast. There were faint noises coming from all around him, maybe it was the knights or maybe it was the forest itself sharing his grief. 

He pulled Merlin in tighter, hoping, praying to keep him grounded, in this realm. Only to watch the light dimming further from his eyes. 

Arthur wanted to scream, he wanted to thrash because wasn't it enough? Hasn't he suffered enough? Why was he still losing his people? The most important people in his life kept leaving him. No matter how he begged or pleaded or cried they just turned and left.

What hadn't he seen? No that wasn’t right because he knew what he hadn’t seen. The emotionless acceptance comes after anger, it comes after desperation and pain. He never saw that. All those stages of grief. Maybe some glimpses here and there every few months but then Merlin would be alright, at least in front of him and he’ll wilfully forget it.  
Why hadn’t he seen it? What reduced Merlin to this? Why didn't he come to him? He would have helped. Had he known it was this bad, bad enough for Merlin to, to…

Arthur would have dropped everything, EVERYTHING, to aid him. 

The kingdom was at peace, magic was returning to the land, they were allied to all the kingdoms in Albion. Including those that practised magic. So, what? What made Merlin think he couldn't come to him?

He can’t lose him. He doesn’t care how selfish the thought was. He couldn’t lose him.

Merlin blinks sluggishly. Blue meets blue and Arthur realises, this is happening. This isn’t a nightmare or a situation his kingly powers can change on a whim. The pain in his chest wasn’t collateral from his sword practice and the burn in his eyes wasn’t sweat. The man dying in his arms is Merlin, his Merlin, real. As real as the blood and the faint beats beneath his palm.

Just yesterday he had promised himself, he wasn’t letting Merlin out of his sight when he found him. Then he found him and now he’s losing him. He can’t lose him.

_Please._

“You’ll be fine,” the warlock breathes out. 

Arthur jolts, but Merlin is still there. His breathing almost gone and his unfocused gaze at the sky now.

“You’ll be fine,” he repeats on the exhale. Arthur hadn’t realised he was breathing with Merlin until his next breath doesn’t come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooo...
> 
> Here is how I imagined the death scene went:
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CDAvNZeD1-d/ (just listen to the song)
> 
> The way the song plays in this edit *chefs kiss*  
> so like, Merlin is confessing and the part "Can you say it? Can you say it? your love is like" is playing all slow and muffled, steadily getting louder. and then the stabbing happens and the song launches to a loud, "Hey na na na, hey na na, Your love is like...It hurts so good" 
> 
> I know that's EXTREMELY dramatic (and probably cringy) but the climax of this chapter is what I based this whole disjointed story on, so I got excited. Also for all the hype I had for this chapter in my head I'm just disappointed with this thing.
> 
> I know I said this last time too but the next chapter is really going to take a while... might even be by the end of this month. because  
> a) I should have started studying a week ago  
> b) I haven't the faintest clue how to write the next chapter. I have a solution. but no clue how to work it in.  
> c) I have started working on another story, which usually means I slow down on the old one. and that one is looking like it's gonna become a goddamned novel istg.
> 
> I have edited this with one eye closed (Literally). it two o'clock at night and I cannot stress this enough but I really should be either studying or sleeping. so if you find mistakes let me know and I'll fix them. Thank you.
> 
> Read the tags and trust me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this mess of an end notes 
> 
> ~Jayen ❤


	9. Your love is like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When does anything go according to plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post something on my birthday ':) So I broke the last chapter in two parts :)
> 
> It's not 31st where I live anymore (just missed it by a few minutes ahhhhhh) but I'm sure it is somewhere (:
> 
> So here, take this highly unedited version of the story ( I'm so sorry :[] )

Merlin had a plan.

It was pretty straightforward. Just get Arthur out of the castle, somewhere secluded, tell him the truth and then let Arthur’s impulsive anger do the rest for him. 

His whole life has been about lying and hiding. And he was just so _done_ with it all. First, it was the terror of enslavement then there was the fear of the pyre or the chopping block and then there was the fear of losing everything he had made for himself in the place he called home. Lying because he was always afraid of losing people, afraid of seeing them turn their back on him. but in the end, he lost them to the thralls of death anyway because he couldn’t save them, and enough was enough. He wasn’t going to do it. On the last day of his life, Merlin was _not_ going to lie. Not with his mouth and not with his body. Gods know he has made enough mistakes to not need to.

Of course, then the thoughts of the knights came unbidden to his mind. They deserved to know. From him. Not from Gaius, over his dead body.

So, they were added to his plan, which, well, it only made the plan easier. Except for maybe Lancelot. No, he can’t come. He’ll stop Arthur. So, will the queen. 

After deciding that, it was simple. A hunting trip. Guinevere won’t come then. And a little shuffling with the patrol list for Lance.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but he really wasn’t surprised that the ‘true’ state of his face was blank. After all the years of careful manipulation, nothing much showed on his face unless he made an effort. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On one hand, he knew if his face showed what he was feeling, there would have been way more prodding on the way to the hunting site. On the other hand, he couldn’t push away the thought, ‘What happened to me.’ Not really a question as he knew exactly what happened. And wasn’t it pathetic that it could all be summed up in one word? 

Destiny.

When they reached the clearing, everything went well, except for… Gwaine. He should have known that no matter what he did Gwaine would not go against him. He paralysed him, temporarily. Because no one was coming between him and his peace and damn the consequences.

Except then Arthur realised what he was doing and Merlin wouldn’t lie how he felt about that. First of all, Arthur figuring out was in itself a big deal for him but then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. What else do you expect from the once and future king? Then there was his reaction to it all. It sent a happy thrill up his spine. He wasn’t sure what he was happy about. At someone being horrified at the idea of Merlin trying to off himself, or someone finally, finally knowing, seeing all the ugly in him. All the oily slime of depression that he had been so violently shoving in to hide. It was nice to see it reflected in someone else’s eyes.

In the end, it was his decision. Not Arthur or destiny or some sorcerer bent on destruction. It was his and until that moment he didn’t know how much he needed that. Control.  
He had tried to calm Arthur, reassure him that it would all be fine. He had been surprised at the mess Arthur had become in that short, how much emotion he was showing. He vaguely wondered if he had underestimated Arthur’s love for him. But with death so close, Merlin hadn’t cared. 

Death, for he was sure he had died, felt a lot like free falling. Not in the way that your stomach drops and air whistles in your ear as it rushes past but more like everything that his eyes could see was getting further, blurrier and tinier. He was falling but his body was too numb to feel it.

His last thought; As beautiful as Albion was, it would take care of her king. He had been a product of her wanting to protect Arthur, after all. She would find a replacement. Hopefully someone stronger.

So, with Albion’s sky in his view, he let go. His only regret were the sobs that followed him till the end.

***

Conscious comes first. The feeling of existing; The feeling of presence, then comes touch, the feeling of the threadbare blanket below and above him, the blanket he should have changed months ago. The twinge of pain that came with the expansion of his chest on every inhale, His clothes on his skin. Smell and sound slam into him at once. Herbs, wax, parchment and ink, the one that Arthur used when he wanted to sign especially important documents. Slowly, going from muffled to comforting as he realised the sound was of the scratch of parchment as someone wrote on it. 

Merlin blinks open his eyes to the view of his ceiling in Gaius’ quarters. Cracked and even as it is, it bubbles a laugh out of him. He was alive. Of course, he was. When had a plan ever gone as smoothly as the one, he had executed- how long ago was it? - yesterday? Excalibur can’t kill him. Nothing can. He is going to live forever. Watch as everyone he knew withered away; Gaius, Gwaine, Lance, Arthur, shit, Arthur.

He’ll have to watch him die after all. 

Not just that but the most important people of his life would become a blink in his eternal existence.

After everything, destiny was going to take away one peace he could have had. He’ll never have the sweet relief of nothingness. He’ll never be old or grey or dead or gone. Nothing can kill him.

The utter and absolute helplessness of it all threatened to consume him. There was nothing he could do. He had no choice, no free will, Nothing. He had nothing; he was nothing. It’s pulling him in so deep that he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. 

Merlin doesn’t realize how blurry his vision became until a blonde head emerges into it.

“Merlin, hey. Calm down.” The blonde head speaks, “Gaius! He’s awake!”

Blonde replaces white and all Merlin can do as something cold is pushed against his lips is hiccups and choke on nothing but hurt and helplessness. An awful taste washes over his tongue and he thinks he can recognise it if he concentrates. But what’s the point? 

When lethargy takes over his body, he knows what he drank. He lifts his hand and presses it hard over his wound in an effort to stay awake. It doesn’t help and his hand is soon pulled away anyway. 

He lets the darkness take over bemoaning the fact that it’s temporary.

**

When he wakes next, everything comes back a little slower. His first thought at seeing Arthur sitting beside his bed with his head on a small table that is usually kept outside in Gaius’ quarters, scattered with different royal looking parchments and scrolls, is confusion. He looks tired, his closed eyes surrounded with deep, dark circles like he hasn’t slept for a week straight. 

He moves and a pain shoots up his chest and then everything comes back, even before he looks down to the sight of no shirt but his torso covered with bandages. 

Merlin’s breathe hitches and he just knows he is one step away from a panic attack and he can't have that. He needs… He needs to… He needs to go outside. Yes! That’s what he needs. 

He enchants a silence spell on himself and stands up, only to step on papers instead of the wooden floor. He looks around then to the sight of Parchment covering every horizontal surface of his small room. With this much paperwork Merlin would think Arthur’s shifted his work here. Or maybe has shifted himself here.

He shakes his head. He needs to _go_.

Forest. He’ll go there. Just go there. 

Somewhere on the way, he hears his name being called and he breaks into a run. He needs to get out there. It doesn’t matter for what. He just wants out, open, away.

**  
Merlin has never run out of his magic like he has heard Gaius tell him about other sorcerers. Not because he has a lot of it. it just isn’t his magic he can control. He didn’t know it before the battle of Camlann but he knows now. His Magic is that of the earth, the sea and the sky. He doesn’t run out because when he breaks off his barrier and needs to use more than what his mortal body can store, he can control the magic of everything. Son of the earth, the sea and the sky, he thinks bitterly. 

But he never asked for this. Never ever had he wanted to make decisions for other people, for a whole kingdom? He was forced into it and in the end, he couldn’t do it right. All because he is powerful. Well, he doesn’t want it. The Goddess can stuff it.

He lets the barrier falls and lets the magic circulate in him, detesting its attempts to soothe him, trying to make him feel better when all he wants is to feel nothing. He starts manipulating it with ease. Letting the cloud gather above him heavily. But that’s not the only thing he wants. He closes his eyes and spreads himself. Racing his magic at the edges of those clouds to form more, reach farther, cover more of the sky, blocking the sun and rapidly darkening the tauntingly sunny afternoon.

It’s not enough. He pushes and pushes for what feels like hours. Until he is sure he has covered all of Albion. Then he lets it fall. Not caring what is falling in where. But feels them nonetheless. The snow in the north, the cold rain on his mortal body that is all but an anchor to him while his conscious travels the skies of the five kingdoms. The hailstorm between here and there. And the lightning raining down everywhere setting fires hot enough to burn whole forests. 

Either he runs the magic of the Earth _dry_ or the goddess deems him unworthy of it and cuts him off. Because he doesn’t _?Want It_. 

This is his rage, his final stand. They either take it away from him or take him away from it. Merlin wasn’t given much choice in all this. Not about the power or about destiny or about his life or death. But, hell if he is going to take it all sitting down. 

So, he pushes. Spreading even beyond Albion. Stretching beyond its shores and into the seas. And on and on and on.

In the end, it’s neither. His body just snaps. He is unwillingly pushed back into it and then everything goes black. 

**

“Merlin, I’m sorry. For everything. I’m truly sorry, my child.” He hears in the dark. 

“But you have to find better ways to deal with your grief.” She says.

“Don’t worry, child. You won’t be immortal for long.” Says the final voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is 100% comfort, I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it!
> 
> Gyus please go check out [ temporalSilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalSilence/pseuds/temporalSilence)'s [ goosebumps-inducing artwork ](https://twitter.com/temporalsilence/status/1323030798887456774?s=21) and show her some love <3


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